Caught Hot-Rod Red Handed
by Taila-Tai
Summary: Hostage situations sucked. It was hard to kill the bad guys before they got to the person you were trying to save. It was hard to get out whole and unharmed. But it was even harder when the hostage liked to run his mouth, had the energy of a caffeinated hamster and apparently wanted to repay the debt by taking Steve in and teaching him everything about the new world. Everything. AU
1. Mission

It had been two years now, two rather uneventfulyears, but the glaringly clean and plain hallways still made him feel…

 _NervousAnxiousUncomfortableVulnerableNakedScaredLonelyTerrified_

… on edge? Steve swallowed tightly at the thought, blinking in surprise every time his thick boots squeaked on the flooring. It was _understandable_ , his therapist had told him, her doe like eyes soft and pitying. It was new missions and adrenaline, it was the old war and watching people die. It was everything he'd suffered through catching up to him now that he had no distractions.

It was because he was unwilling to accept the new time, she'd scribbled into his file – which he was more than capable of reading upside down – it was because he wouldn't accept help and settle into the new age.

Which was a lie.

Steve understood he wasn't back in the second world war, he understood that things had settled, that technology had made leaps and bounds. He was perfectly capable of understanding and accepting. He was, however, incapable of being _happy about it._

Everything he knew was gone, corrupted by the new century, so yes, he hated it. Those empty yards of green, where men would train and sweat on, were replaced by solid white floors and polished gym equipment that smelt of nothing but leather. The old styled bunk beds he'd hated to love, the ones where you'd look to the side and see twenty other men, were replaced by private rooms you got with signing your life away on the dotted line.

Even the dog tags, those shining chunks of metal he used to personally return to mourning families had disappeared – replaced now by sparkling badges and titles sitting on polished desks. It had stopped being about earning respect and making a name on the field, and instead about your title and what it put in your bank account.

Bucky would've despised it all. Peggy too. Not that he could blame them.

"Ah, Captain Rogers? On time as always, I see."

Steve turned at the new voice, a weakly polite smile on his lips. "Coulson, it's good to see you," he nodded once, both hands shoved into his pockets. It hid the slight trembling in his fingers. "I didn't want to keep anyone waiting."

"Don't worry, you never do," the greying man promised, his own lips twitching up in a genuine smile. Before the silence between them could grow even _remotely_ uncomfortable, his eyes were sweeping out to the area behind them. "Well, since you're here, we might as well get started? After you, Captain," he allowed, graciously stepping back and waving towards the open door.

Another nod, another dull smile and then he was through the door, his handler following close behind like a shadow. Steve took one look at the grey colour scheme and the lack of windows – how angry would the board be if he made a hole in the side of the building, let some natural light in? – before he forced his body into the nearest seat.

"You lot really don't like windows, do you?" Steve joked lamely, smile falling into a sharp grimace.

Coulson gave a sympathetic wince. "I'm sorry, Steve. I know you dislike only having one way out, but this is a secure room and we need one for the material today," he apologized bluntly, eyes drifting towards the folders, both the ones in his hands and the ones already on the table. "It's sensitive."

Ah, right. He was here for a reason – for a mission.

Steve adopted his classic stern expression, the one that made men cower back. "Right. The mission," he reminded the room pointlessly, leaning back with as much ease as his tense shoulders could feign. "It seems important. Who's in the team?"

"No team. No backup," Coulson frowned. "This is sensitive, Steve, I really can't stress that enough," he gave a sigh, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he hefted up a beige folder. "We're hoping to deal with this discreetly. _You_ are how we'll manage that." That wasn't surprising, the more secretive the mission, the more often it was him and him alone dealing with it. "Three days ago, one of our consultants were taken by an unknown terrorist group."

Blue eyes clouded in concern, worry gnawing at the smooth skin of the soldier's forehead.

In the agency there were few people he liked, and _none_ of them were the soldiers he worked beside, unable to befriend someone who constantly tried to one up him when there were lives at stake. Instead he'd grew close to those who hid behind the scenes, those who never had anything to prove to him. It was medics and intelligence officers mostly, like Cho and that young intern Parker, sometimes the odd consultant here and there…

Steve closed his eyes, rubbing a hand across the bridge of his nose. "Who?" he demanded, pinching the skin.

There was a warm hand on his shoulder, the heat a small comfort. "No one you know," Coulson promised, giving a soft smile as he looked down to the folder – showing that while the soldier didn't know the consultant, the handler did. "You haven't met this one."

"I haven't?" Steve frowned, leaning closer and hoping to catch a peek at the words on the paper. "What's their specialty? When do they come in?"

The folder was inched away from his sight. "Thursdays, on occasion, and there's nothing he _doesn't_ specialise in," the suited man shrugged, pursing his lips to hide the humour. "It's a long story – but he's intelligent, useful, and important to more than just our agency. He, uh…" There was a sigh, and the man slapped the folder against his open palm. "Let's just say he's a public figurehead? If we don't get him back, someone is going to notice soon."

 _On occasion? What…_

Steve couldn't help but frown for the umpteenth time, raising a hand to try and hide the action. "Right," he tried slowly, biting back irritation. The agency could at least _act_ like they trusted him. "You want me to go get him out then? Minimal injury too, if he's in the public eye?"

Coulson chuckled, a rare sound paired with a common smile. "Well yes, we want you to go in and _help_ him, but getting out is something he'll manage on his own, believe me. We're going to give you a case, and we want you to pass it on. He'll be able to get home once he has it."

This wasn't going to be the average mission, was it? The blond soldier rubbed his eyes, confusion littering pain behind the blue irises. "Right. You want me to break in, give him something and then find my own way out?" he demanded, looking up with a gleam of frustration. "Coulson, couldn't a team manage this better than I could? What about Romanov?

The greying man almost looked guilty, but the expression flickered away before the other could get a hold on it. "He doesn't play well with others," he admitted slowly. "You might be the only one capable of keeping a levelled head while dealing with him."

Steve pointedly held out a hand. "Who is this guy?"

The folder was squeezed tighter in the other's grip, like he was trying to keep it away from the soldier. "We've been trying to let you adapt to the times, at least before throwing things like this at you…" Coulson tried to explain, throat moving in a swallow. "We weren't sure how you'd react at first, seeing as you technically have ties to him. We weren't sure if it would be similar to letting you take two steps forward, before dragging you back one."

Blue eyes flashed in suspicion, the hand lowering to rest innocently on the table. "Is there something you're not telling me?" Steve asked slowly, his stare daring the man to lie to him. He might not fully understand how the rules and times had changed, but if it had something to do with the military he was a quick learner – or as it seemed, a natural in the area. The other man was wilting under his look, shrinking back slightly at the level-headed glare and patience. "Coulson, you know how I work. If you don't tell me what – "

"It's Howard's son."

Steve stiffened.

For once their assumption had been right. It was two steps forward, and one step back.


	2. Howard's Son

Tony waited.

Then he waited some more…

Okay, and was he _really_ still waiting?

Tony slumped as much as the restraints – encircling his waist _and_ wrists, come on – allowed, head falling back as he let out a loud sigh. "Come on guys, you're killing me here," he groaned, ears straining for any sounds outside his prison. The concrete floors were quite telling, and anyone daring to walk across them was guaranteed to be heard. "Honestly?"

His eyes darted to the door when a bang echoed, shoulders automatically hardening into a solid line. There was murmuring outside his prison, the conversation _almost_ too quiet for him to pick up on, but if he strained his ears just right…

" – _he wants a stereo? You fucking with me?"_

Tony felt his lips quirk up into a smile, humour trickling past the pain flooding his mind. Fuck yes, he wanted a stereo. It had been far too long since he'd listened to some decent music, and when he was left alone the only thing that talked to him was his own mind. If they wanted their captive alive and _sane_ kidnapping a rock band was in their best interests.

There was a sigh through the thick metal. _"Maybe we should give him one? It don't gotta work…"_ the man sniggered in a heavy accent, forcing the genius to roll his eyes. _"That'll teach the rich prick."_

Ah yes, such a lesson learnt for an engineer _._

After that, the door creaked open with a pleasantly ominous creak, revealing two men wearing dark clothing and equally dark smiles. It made the skin on the back of his neck prickle with unease, but Tony offered them a smile anyway. "Oh, hey fellas…" he drawled, pretending to look over the room. "Now, I gotta know, what are two pieces of shit like you doing in a piece of shit place like this?"

One of the men – _let's call him dickbag?_ – let out a snort. "Is that really what gets you all the models? Your shitty personality?" he demanded, moving closer with a pointed look over his shoulders. His buddy – _how about dickbag two?_ – chuckled, apparently hearing something funny.

"Actually, it's the money," Tony shrugged. "Intelligence. Generosity. Good looks. Oh, and I'm a solid twelve inches – "

The commentary was cut short by a backhand, his face snapping to the side and blood bursting out to coat his teeth and tongue. Tony _barely_ resisted the urge to grown when the pain hit him, the throbbing in his cheek revealing he'd no doubt bitten it with the hit. Lifting his head and meeting dickbag's eyes, he spat out a mouthful of crimson over shiny combat boots.

"Ouch."

Dickbag narrowed his eyes. "Ah, sorry, did that hurt?" he mocked, once again checking over his shoulder with a pleased look. Tony must've missed the joke, because they both laughed and he didn't. "Maybe you should watch that… hm, _pretty_ little mouth of yours, huh?"

Tony rolled his eyes at the cliché line, not overly bothered by the man finding him attractive. It wasn't the best comment, didn't have the best hint hidden in the words, but he could handle it well enough. "If you wanna call me pretty, sweetheart, you're gonna need to talk to my publicist," he grinned, all white teeth and red blood. "Or you can pay me, but I doubt I'm in your price range."

Torture came in many forms.

Dickbag smiled back, teeth tinted yellow by cigarette smoke, as his fingers curled into a fist –

" _Spri se! Postavete r_ _ŭ_ _tsete si i da se premesti dalech ot m_ _ŭ_ _zha_ _."_

How many goddamn interruptions… "What now?" Tony tried to lean around the dickbag before him, straining to see the newcomer who was filling out the doorway with broad shoulders and a rigid pose.

Tony wasn't entirely sure if he managed to hide the wince, throat tightening in fear as he caught sight of the wide frame and bulked arms. If the powerful – and no doubt drug induced – line of their body was anything to go by, the new guy was gonna pack quite the punch. It was clearly time to say goodbye to his perfect teeth, and probably to his un-broken bones. They would be missed.

 _Stark Industries is going to launch a serious anti-steroid appeal when I get the fuck outta here…_

The thought was broken as the new guy stepped a little closer, blond hair catching in the light. It was a welcome sight – everyone who'd come to question and beat him had dark hair – and absently he wondered if the guy was a local. _"_ _Otdalechete se, ili az shte napravya s otdalechavaneto vi_ _,"_ was growled out now, the already imposing figure straightening up and gaining a few extra and unneeded inches.

Tony shied back slightly, not wanting to get intimate with the broad body – which was a damn shame now that he thought about. It was a _nice_ broad body and all, his type from what he could make out of striking features…

Strong neck, blending in with ridiculously large shoulders… his arms fading into big hands and…

"Is that a frisbee?" Tony squawked, pulled from his thoughts when he recognized the odd shape in the man's hands. "What the hell? You can't even play frisbee in this dump. It's all dark corners and dodgy hallways. You need open ground. Fresh air. _Happiness."_

The blond hair gleamed as the man faced him. "Are you alright, Mr. Stark?"

"Am I alright?" Tony echoed lamely, recognizing the lilt of a familiar accent. Oh yeah, definitely not a local. American? "Sweetheart, I'm being tortured? Of course, I'm alright. These guys can't punch for shit, but I'm thinking you can…" he muttered, pulling a dramatic face.

Blondie narrowed his eyes and nodded his head faintly, almost like they were having an awkward conversation. "Oh, torture, huh?" he asked lightly, and the – oh, it's a _shield?_ – was transferred to his other hand. "That uh, doesn't sound super great."

 _Super great_. For fucks sakes.

Tony gave a slow blink. "Yeah, torture, not my favorite way to pass the time. If you don't mind voyeurism though, I can show you what I prefer to do…" he grinned weakly, licking the blood from his teeth when the newcomer seemed horrified to see it. Those blue eyes weren't designed for any negative emotions. "Ignoring my insatiable libido; do I know you? I don't mean to sound cheesy, honestly don't, but your eyes seem familiar?"

Dickbag, who still had his hand raised like an idiot, snorted. "How's that _solid twelve inches_ now?" he mocked quietly, eyes drifting to the newcomer with something similar to unease. "Bulgarian isn't needed and frankly, pretty boy, I would like to see you try."

"Try? Try what?" Tony asked desperately, eyes snapping between the two men – wait wasn't there a third man before? – at a more panicked pace now. "What do you want pretty boy to try? Tap dancing? It might be hard with his large frame. You actually kinda need to be slimmer, you know?"

Pretty boy took one step forward. "Move away from him."

"Can someone _seriously_ fill me in here? I don't speak Bulgarian. I also can't tap dance so…"

Dickbag finally lowered his hand, but his fingers remained curled together, always ready to throw a punch. "Ah, but I thought you were going to _make me?"_ he taunted, turning until his captive could only see the lines of his back.

Tony scowled at being so pointedly overlooked, his own hand clenching from where it remained tied to the small of his back. That was rude? He might've been their captive and torture victim, but he was a human being, not to mention a famous one, that deserved some respe – and no, he wasn't going to bother finishing the thought. The irony alone was enough to make him choke.

"I said move away." Pretty boy was talking again, demanding attention with a rich, low timbered voice. His form shifted until he was standing bodily in the room, the bare lightbulb _finally_ illuminating the shadowed planes of his face. "Or I will make you."

 _Holy shit._

Tony's lips popped open.

 _Holy actual shit._

Dickbag recognized the perfect features about the same time his captive did, proud posture stuttering in shock. It was as the blond straightened even more – his shoulders becoming a separate entity, _sweet jesus_ – that a whispered cause word met the silent and suddenly frigid air. At least, the genius assumed it was a curse word? He hadn't been lying when he said he didn't speak Bulgarian.

"I'm not sure how I'm meant to react right now?" Tony questioned in a hushed tone, lips still somewhere near the floor and heart lodged up in his throat. "I'm not going crazy right? I mean, you can see him too? This isn't some figment of my sex deprived mind?"

Dickbag whimpered.

Taking it as his answer, the billionaire slumped back and just openly stared across the room, absently noting that the second guard was on the floor by blondie's feet. That explained that then. "This is making my inner child scream in delight right now, I'm not even gonna lie," he declared, feeling somewhat disbelieving as a red hue climbed up the man's neck.

Was he blushing? Good god, he was…

Tony's grin broadened. "It's doing something to my outer adult too, if you get me," he purred, wiggling his brows place like an excited puppy. "I mean, wow, this isn't the place or the time, but you gotta admit they got it right back then. I mean, those shoulders – _damn!"_

The last word was startlingly loud, like a gunshot in the silence, but they did as he intended. Dickbag hesitated, eyes flicking back to look at him in surprise, and offering up just enough of a distraction for blondie to leap forward and deliver an unsuspected blow. As both men dropped into battle stances, fists raised and features set, the billionaire only grinned wider.

He was being rescued by Captain _Fucking_ America.

Sweet.

* * *

The plan rocked beneath his feet sickeningly, and if he wasn't already immune to it, he would've turned green at the motions. For something so apparently _ahead of the times,_ it fell victim to winds and storms just like any other aircraft would. He was almost disappointed at that? He'd never liked flying – if humans were meant to fly, they would've been born with wings – but even seventy years of technology couldn't make it better.

Steve set his lips when another rocking movement hit the plane, looking over his shoulder at the simple pilot. The man was cursing wildly, his hands flying over dials and switches, but he didn't seem concerned about the storm raging around them – if anything, he was more worried about the landing gear finding traction in the muddy ground than being spontaneously struck by lightning. So, pointedly, the blond looked back to the ramp and swallowed down his own worry about the thunder echoing in the dark sky.

He should've cancelled the mission.

When the storm hit, and he'd read over the weather reports that had threatened to escalate, he should've cancelled it no matter what the agency had said. Yet here he was – because waiting was far too dangerous now, and a risk he wasn't willing to take.

If he didn't go in now, if he decided to wait, something in his gut told him there wouldn't be someone to save when he did try.

Steve took in a deep breath, moving to stumble towards the front of the aircraft. "Don't bother landing," he decided, tightening the grip he had on his shield. It _was_ built to take impact anyway so… "I'll jump."

The pilot blanched. "Y-you can't, sir!"

"I can, actually," the super soldier countered, already hiking up the vibranium disk. "Open the ramp."

With a complying mess of words, the man behind pressed a few buttons, the ramp lowering and letting in wild winds and loose streams of water. Steve winced at the show nature was putting on for him, rolling out his shoulders as he moved closer to take in the black clouds and sparking light. He'd used the shield to take impact like this once in the war, and seventy years would add no difference – heck, if he remembered correctly, the conditions had been worse and the height greater.

See? Simple.

Besides there was a helpful body of water besides the compound just begging to be used, its surface battered by the torrent of rain and – and, wait he was still struggling with large bodies of water, even now….

Maybe not so simple?

Steve swallowed down the concern rising in his chest, because hadn't his therapist told him to face a problem head on? And if this wasn't _head on_ then he didn't know what was. "Wish me luck," he called over his shoulder, taking a fast-paced start to the open ramp. The faster he moved, the less time he had to change his mind after all. "God help me."

Once he hit the air, he spread out his arms for a few seconds, enjoying the rush of wind and rain before he tightened up, squeezing his hands together. The shield was in front of him – did this make it facing a problem _shield on_ then? – ready to cut through the water enough so that the initial collision wouldn't do lasting damage. Of course, hitting the water still stung a little, like when you tried to dive but angled wrong and ended up belly flopping, but he was able to push it aside as he swum upwards, lungs burning for air.

 **"It's Howards son…"**

Steve shook the water from his hair, the rain replacing it as his eyes scoped out the compound and it's almost cliché location. An abandoned dam of all places? He was almost disappointed at how easy they were making this for him. No one really offered any _challenge_ anymore.

Climbing onto the bank of the river, he crouched low, taking in the guards plastered about the place. With the way they were positioned, it was clear there was more than one way in and out of the base, and from the blueprints he'd seen, the best way would most likely be one of the pipes leading into the water supply. It was old fashioned, ending in a deep well in the pits of the compound itself so there was no chance he'd be stuck with nowhere to go.

 **"His name's Anthony, but he prefers Tony. From the pictures I've seen, he's quite the dead ringer for his father."**

But that would require holding his breath for god knows how long as he swum, first to the bottom of the lake and then through the water system. It was a risk. Steve sighed and placed the shield on his back, locking it into place as the rain continued to pelt down.

It was a risk, but he had to take it.

Breathing in deep, he held the air in his lungs before dropping back into the water, eyes flashing open. It was murky, and the water hurt the blue orbs, but he could make out a few feet in front of him before it gave way to a blurry mess of brown and black.

 **"Your therapist thought it best we didn't introduce the two of you yet. With the physical similarities, it just…"**

Steve found the entrance quicker than he'd expected and pulled himself through, wide shoulders and shielded back proving to be somewhat difficult to bring into the shoot. It would open up soon he knew, but for now, his pace was extremely slowed by the tighter squeeze. As he grunted in exertion, a small bubble of air pushing past his lips, he cursed his muscled body not for the first time.

It was bad enough when it stopped him from buying clothing, or from having some semblance of privacy in public places – but now it was hindering his missions? He thought the advancements were meant to _help_.

As he squirmed, concrete grinded against him, rubbing against the thick fabric of his uniformed shoulders. It would open up any second now, he just had to keep pushing. He wasn't going to be beaten by a water pipe – not after surviving a world war, being frozen for several decades and then a new time with new rules, and guidelines he broke more often than he followed.

 **"Please don't be angry Steve, we were just concerned about the impact he could have on you."**

There, the path was wider now. He sped up the pace, lungs beginning to burn as they begged for oxygen. He had maybe another minute or two before the black would creep in the corners of his vision, before his kicks wouldn't be as strong and his hands wouldn't listen to his commands.

He couldn't see much at first, not without a source of light, but soon enough he was able to make out the shape of his hands as they groped the metal piping around him. Distracted as he was with the influx of light, it was absently that he realised he was kicking upwards now, about to emerge in the well he'd seen on the schematics. When the yellow blur grew brighter, he mentally screamed out in relief.

 **"He may look and sound like his father, but that's where the similarities end. They couldn't be more different if they tried."**

* * *

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	3. I forgot the suitcase

Steve emerged from the water with a gasping breath, blond hair flopping into his eyes and blocking his vision for a few beats. Not that he could really _see_ much anyway, what with the lake water still coating the blue orbs and blurring the area around him into a colorless mess, but it was the thought that mattered and – and was it normal that his eyes were _burning_? He felt like that wasn't normal.

"Damn it," he breathed, rubbing a hand down his face and scrubbing away the clinging water. The room around him was large but empty, and he tugged his body out of the water with a tired sigh. At least the rain couldn't get him in here. "Upsie daisy…"

Tugging his shield from his back, he tried to pull up the mental image of the schematics, wondering where he was meant to turn now that he'd managed to infiltrate the compound. They'd said that – that the _consultant_ was no doubt being held on the lower levels, so he'd best start looking there if he wanted to be home in time for the early morning news.

As he hesitated at the door, arguing with himself over which way he was meant to go – was he already on the lowest level, or were there more? – he was startled by a voice sounding in his ear.

" _You're in, good. Only took you three minutes longer than it would've taken me."_

Steve almost cursed – he'd forgotten about that. "Romanov, warn me next time, yeah? I'm ninety, you don't wanna give me a heart attack."

He could hear the woman's purring chuckle. _"Sorry Rogers,"_ she murmured, somehow managing to make even an apology sound mocking. _"I just figured you'd want some help is all. Go down the hallway to the left. You're not that far from where we think Stark's being held."_

The blond nodded at the words, hiking up his shield and slowly pushing open the door before peeking out. He could hear talking, more than one voice too, but it was a faint mutter; barely able to be heard let alone pinpointed. With a quick visual check, he was gone, stalking down the hallway and rounding the corner with his shield lifted high.

The precaution was unnecessary, the stretch void of all life.

"Where are all the guards?" he whispered, knowing the woman would hear him despite the low tone. "And when did the comms. become waterproof? Last time we had a mission with water involved, I was cut from communications and I got shot."

Natasha chuckled again. _"Yes well, we learnt from that mission. For an intelligence agency, we're pretty smart. Door on your right."_

The soldier slowed again, the voices growing louder as he approached the doorway his companion had warned him about. It must have been where the consultant was being kept, if the third voice sounding from inside was any show, and all he had to do was take a few more steps. A few more steps, take out the guards, save the damsel in distress and go home victorious.

Just a few more steps.

But he hesitated.

When he realized who was around that doorway, that he was about to see features that were unfamiliar in their familiarity, he hesitated. _What if he's nothing like his father? What if he's too much like his father? What if he's_ – The sound of skin hitting skin cut through him, churning his vision to red before he'd even registered what he was hearing.

Steve's grip tightened on the shield as a smooth baritone echoed from the room; hauntingly familiar but also far too different to be the one he remembered. "Ouch."

"Ah, sorry, did that hurt? Maybe you should watch that… hm, _pretty_ little mouth of yours, huh?"

The mocking lilt to the voice made the line between captor and captive rather clear to him, and he felt his teeth grind together. _Pretty little mouth._ He'd heard words like that spoken before, not only in the war but also in back alleys by the men who beat him into the ground. They were words designed to degrade someone, but there was also the silent threat of violati –

"If you wanna call me pretty, sweetheart, you're gonna need to talk to my publicist. Or you can pay me, but I doubt I'm in your price range."

Steve blinked in confusion and, admittedly, in muted awe at the words. That was new – and something that would, no doubt, be punished if he didn't get in there and stop the next fist from making contact.

Pushing into the doorway, he caught the two standing bodies and the one tied to the chair, assessing them all in the space of a second before darting forward. One of his hands smothered the guards mouth as the shield hit the crown of his head, knocking him out cold with little more than a sound. Gently, he lowered the body to the floor and straightened up to his full height, just as the other tightened his hand into a dangerous fist.

" _Stop! Put up your hands and move away from the man."_

The foreign language fell from his lips easily, and the other guard stiffened at the threat in the words, his captive leaning sideways to stare him down. "What now…" the man breathed, eyes roaming over his figure in disinterest. Steve almost wanted to squirm, his eyes going straight to the bruises lacing a tanned neck and surrounding brown eyes as the other studied him in return.

He caught the chocolate hue darkening in worry, and stepped forward protectively, lips curling up. _"Move away, or I'll make you move away."_

The guard's shoulders tensed up even further, the man realizing the seriousness of the situation.

His captive however… "Is that a frisbee?"

Steve resisted the urge to frown, eyes flicking first down to his shield and then to the man tied to the chair. The genius knew who he was, right? Well, he _had_ too, being the son of the man who made the shield and all, but if he didn't then…

Then maybe he was more hurt than he appeared. _Concussions can cause confusion and memory loss, can't they? In the very least they can disorientate someone enough they don't know what's happening around them. But he seems rather aware and – and oh gods, he looks like his father._

Stark was still talking. "What the hell? You can't even play frisbee in this dump. It's all dark hallways and dodgy corners. You need open ground. Fresh air. _Happiness,"_ he ranted, talking with his entire body, wiggling about and pulling a new expression with every word.

The super soldier ground his teeth together, trying hard not to focus on the way the small body shifted and moved. "Are you alright, Mr. Stark?" he asked slowly, hoping the man had the capacity to understand him. Looking for another distraction – _they both had facial hair?_ – his eyes fell to take in the blood falling from thin lips, crimson smattering the skin of bared collarbones.

That wasn't a sign of internal bleeding, was it? Wait, _was it?_

Brown eyes were almost childishly bright and optimistic. "Am I alright?" The genius seemed honesty confused at the question, his head tilting to the side curiously. "Sweetheart, I'm being tortured? Of course, I'm alright. These guys can't punch for shit, but I'm thinking you can…"

Sweetheart?Narrowing his eyes to avoid the desire to stutter – he'd never been able to take flattery, mocking or otherwise – he stepped forward again, over the body at his feet. "Oh, torture, huh?" he asked idly, voice catching slightly at his attempt at casual. "That uh, doesn't sound super great."

Natasha practically squawked in his ear. _"Rogers, what the hell was that? I swear to god, if you're blushing right now."_

The man replying stopped him from reacting to the woman's words. "Yeah, torture, not my favorite way to pass the time. If you don't mind voyeurism though, I can show you what I prefer to do?" the consultant teased idly, and then something in his eyes warmed, turning the hard brown into a molten chocolate shade. It took more willpower than he was willing to admit to stop the blush from darkening at that look. "Ignoring my insatiable libido; do I know you? I don't mean to sound cheesy, honestly don't, but your eyes seem familiar?"

" _I don't even need to see you to know you're blushing."_

This time it wasn't the genius, but the guard standing before said genius that stopped him from yelling at his own earpiece. The broadly shouldered man snorted as he lowered his fist, muttering to his captive; "How's that _solid twelve inches_ now?" Then twin dark eyes were staring at him in discontent. "Bulgarian isn't needed and frankly, pretty boy, I would like to see you try."

Steve felt every muscle in his body tense, ready to fight.

"Try? Try what? What do you want pretty boy to try? Tap dancing? It might be hard with his larger frame, you actually kinda need to be slimmer, you know?" Ton – _Stark_ was stammering out his cleverly worded jokes now, apparently unsettled as he looked between them both. The gleam in his eyes was enough to show he knew the new soldier wasn't there to hurt him, and the realization alone made that soldier relax some.

But sadly, his relaxation didn't last long…

Now that the guard was facing him more, body angled and unwilling to lose sight of them both, Steve could see the damaged skin of the man's shoulder. Every muscle in his body seemed to tick at the sight, wondering how hard it was going to be to inflict the same injury on somebody else. Preferably to the man turning to slowly face him with a deep scowl.

Steve took a pointed step forward, "Move away from him," he commanded again.

Tony made a strangled sound. "Can someone seriously fill me in here? I don't speak Bulgarian. I also can't tap dance so…"

 _I don't think he has a mute button,"_ Natasha announced,

Reality demanded his attention again when the guard, fist still clenched _and probably cramping by now_ , quirked a brow his way. "Ah, but I thought you were going to make me?" he mocked slowly, turning his back on the captive man.

A brown head poked out from his side, Tony's features schooled in a look of childish fury.

"I said move away or I _will_ make you," Steve decided to repeat, taking the final step into the room before straightening up. The pool of light offered by the bare bulb finally reached him now, shining onto his features – he wasn't going to squint, he _wasn't_ – and brightening the dark navy of his uniform.

The momentary lick of blindness was worth it though, when the muttered curse of; _"Fuck me,"_ met the air between them.

The urge to smile was smothered by another strangled noise from the tied man. "I'm not sure how I'm meant to react right now? I'm not going crazy right? I mean, you can see him too? This isn't some figment of my sex deprived mind?" he whispered loudly, lips gaping. If his hands had been freed, Steve didn't doubt the man would've been tugging uselessly on the guard's shirt like a child asking for attention.

As he tried to swallow his embarrassment – no one was ever this happy to see him – the billionaire continued, voice giddy. "This is making my inner child scream in delight right now, I'm not even gonna lie."

 _Okay, we're not blushing Rogers. We're not blushing. No._

"It's doing something to my outer adult too, if you get me," Tony – the name really suited him – grinned, leaning back with a look of pleased shock. His smile was something that made his face warm even more, the urge to shuffle back strong. "I mean, wow, this isn't the place or the time, but you gotta admit they got it right back then. I mean, those shoulders – _damn!"_

Steve almost flinched back at the loud delivery of the words, as startled as the silence was when it was broken by the arrogant admiration, but managed to rein in the initial reaction. It took him a few beats to actually _hear_ the words, and the blush on his cheeks darkened slightly.

" _I need to ask Stark for lessons on how to fluster you,"_ Natasha mused in his ear, not exactly helping to chase away the heat sinking down his neck. _"I've known you for almost two years now, and I've only managed it a handful of times."_

Cursing the redhead and her impeccable timing under his breath, the blond looked back to the guard, tearing his eyes away from the lazy grin on bleeding lips. The smaller, but still stocky male seemed thrown by the words and sudden appearance of the bright smile, brow drawn together in confusion as he stared down the man still tied.

Steve drew his fist back, hiking up his shield as he took advantage of the distraction and delivered a quick shot to the guard's features. His skin ached slightly with the force behind the hit, and the man's head snapped back, form stumbling and lips parting to let out a grunt. Taking back his hands, he lifted both to hover in front of him protectively, watching as the guard corrected his own posture and growled his way.

"You piece of..." The guard sent him a murderous look, the back of his hand pressing against his already bruising nose.

"I told you to move away," Steve shrugged.

The tied-up man chortled, head thrown back into the sound and revealing more bruises along the line of his jaw. "Oh ho, son, you just got _told_ ," Tony snorted, features sobering as he took in the damage dealt by the hit. "Oh hell, he's pretty spry for an older guy. Is your nose alright? It's a little, uh, hm... well, it's about as straight as I am, if I'm being honest."

Steve felt his lips curl into a frown. He'd broken the guards nose without a doubt; bone was protruding awkwardly from one side and shattering any charm the semi-handsome features had harbored, so how did that compare? It wasn't straight at all.

"Oh, I forgot..." Tony shook his head, hunching down. "Blondie was born in the stone ages. I have a lot to teach you, young padawan."

The super soldier wanted to argue, to lie and claim he understood the reference but a swift punch to his cheek was revenge from the man he was fighting. As he went to hit back, not even staggering from the impact, he could hear the hostage let out what sounded like a scandalized squeak.

"Did you actually punch him? What the fuck dude, that's like scribbling on the Mona Lisa with a sharpie?"

This man was going to be a handful, he knew it. Steve grunted as his knee collided with the guard's lower stomach, the man retching up bile before attempting to lock his hands around a muscled thigh. Shaking the grip away, the blond quickly gave each of his enemy's cheeks a hard hit, almost finding irony in the action.

Cheering sounded, closely followed by a whistle. "Oh, and he goes in with a double hit! Terrance, I don't think this is going to be a lengthy fight."

It was a little distracting, knowing he was being watched so closely, but he managed – still avoiding hits while dishing out his own.

Speaking of his own…

As the guard staggered backwards from a roundhouse kick to the chest, Steve looked down to the neglected shield latched to his arm. He should probably get around to using it at some point.

" _I'm assuming you're in the middle of a fight right now, so I probably shouldn't interrupt you…"_

Steve almost sighed at both the sound of a purring voice, and the guard coming back for more.

" _And I mean_ assuming _,"_ Natasha continued, apparently missing his exhale _._ There was a faint sound echoing from the background, and idly he wondered where she was. _"All I can hear is grunting and the sound of skin on skin contact so – oh, oh god, please say you're fighting. The only person with you is Stark and the mere thought of you two fondueing…"_

Steve made a particularly loud sound of protest.

" _Oh, right sorry, you paid me to never mention that again,"_ Natasha remembered, voice catching in humor before he could hear her sober up. _"Okay, anyway, I know I shouldn't interrupt you, but_ _you did bring the suitcase, right? The one we told you to give to Stark?"_

Steve stiffened, and the guards next punch broke through his defense, landing square in the center of his chest and stealing his breath.

Natasha's sigh was legendary. _"I'm gonna take that as a no?"_

If he closed his eyes, he could almost see it - tucked away safely in the corner of the plane, waiting for the aircraft to land so he could grab it on his way out. Only the plane hadn't landed. And he hadn't grabbed it on his way out.

Knowing he needed to answer the woman, _and_ finish the fight before reinforcements showed up, Steve upped his game. The punches were faster, harder, and less forgiving as he started advancing, backing the guard into the corner and barely giving him any breathing room. He could see the panic growing in the other man's hard glare, could see the exact moment he realized he wasn't going to win.

Steve almost felt bad for him, almost, but the image of blood covered teeth and bruised brown eyes murdered any sense other than anger.

He ended it with the shield. With a concussive hit that, if it had been softer, would've merely knocked him out. But the super soldier put all his strength behind it, feeling something dangerously close to satisfaction when a sound similar to a rotten melon bursting hit his ears. The man hadn't even slumped to the floor before Steve was across the room, checking on the hostage.

The hostage who was still giggling. "Okay so that was all kinds of awesome. How do you do that? You're like, sixty years older than me but some days I find it hard to get up from the couch," Tony pouted, his lips stained crimson. "Or just get up at all. Mornings _suck_."

Steve sighed, talking to both the man before him and the woman listening through his ear piece. "I forgot the suitcase."

Tony blinked rapidly, like he was clearing his vision. "Oh. Okay, that's nice? Good for you and all that," he nodded vaguely, before visibly brightening up. "Anyway, how are you feeling after three rounds with pretty boy over there?"

" _Oh, but I thought you were the pretty boy, Stevie…_ " Natasha mocked in a breathless purr.

Pointedly ignoring the voice in his ear, the blond leaned down to tug at the bindings around purple ankles. The ropes were tight, almost too tight, and he wondered how long they'd been pressing against skin. "I'm fine, thank you. But I could've gone without the commentary," he said pointedly, ghosting a fingertip over raw skin.

"Yeah, well it distracted the guy," Tony shrugged, looking down hopefully when some of the ropes loosened. He wiggled again, smile turning almost blinding when he managed to kick out more than an inch. "I wanted to help more, but well, as you can see I'm a little tied up right now."

" _Oh, the pun…"_

Steve closed his eyes, debating just leaving the man where he was and walking away. "It distracted me as well," he grumbled, resisting the urge to rub at the bridge of his nose. He felt a headache coming. "And who the hell is Terrance?"

Tony grinned. "That guy," he announced, using his chin to gesture to the deceased guard. "Probably."

 _Probably?_

The bindings fell away under his hands, and the man sighed in relief as he stretched his legs, the bones creaking in protest. Standing up so he could get behind the genius, Steve eyed the injured shoulder as he passed. "What happened there?" he asked, carefully tapping his finger near the initial wound. It looked raw and untreated, almost like someone had taken a ribbed blade to the skin. "Looks like it hurt."

With a wince, the billionaire experimentally rolled his shoulders. "Random fact number twenty eight – people who kidnap you get really pissed when you don't come willingly. Weird, right?" he murmured, brown eyes peeking over the bloody mess to meet blue.

Steve swallowed, dropping the stare when it turned too mind consuming. "What happened?"

"They nabbed me when I was on my way back from a press conference. One of the guys had what looked like a bread knife," Tony tried for a joke, and if it had been someone other than the blond he might've fooled them. "It looks a lot worse than it is. You almost done back there?"

With the words, the rope came away and Steve grimaced at the black wrists. "There we go," he allowed, straightening up and habitually lifting a hand to his ear. "Nat? How the hell do I get us both outta here?"

" _Back the way you came in?"_

Steve shook his head almost instantly. "I got in through the water main. Spent a good five minutes holding my breath. Stark won't make that."

"Hey, I could totally – wait, did you say _five minutes?_ What the hell are you? A whale?"

Natasha sighed, but there was nothing said about the billionaire's comment. He knew she'd worked with the infuriating man before, so maybe she was immune to his sarcasm? If one _could_ build up an immunity. Oh god, he hoped people could build up an immunity. He'd only spent five minutes in the man's company and he was exhausted.

"Getting out will be hard. There's a good few dozen men between here and the top level anyway," Steve reminded the agent, narrowing his eyes before looking to the men on the ground. They weren't moving. "What do you suggest?"

Despite the conversation clearly not involving him, Tony spoke up – again. "I suggest we walk! Or, you know we can go to wherever they're keeping my suit. Pretty sure they grabbed it same time they grabbed me. I mean, I would've. But then again, I'm smart and they're not..."

Natasha was all business, whatever teasing mood she'd been in long gone. _"Did Stark just say they have one of his suits?"_

Steve turned to the man, quirking up a brow. "I thought you said they'd grabbed you on your way back from a press conference?" he demanded uselessly, stalking forward to check the hallway. If he kept moving and distracting the man, maybe he could away with not actually knowing what the heck was up with all this _suit_ crap. "Why did you bring one of your suits to a public event?"

The billionaire had his back to the doorway, apparently uncaring that he'd be the first target if any reinforcements found them. It almost made him groan aloud – he'd gone through so much trouble to save the man, he was _not_ letting it get ruined now.

Tony let the soldier bodily move him away from the door and further into the corner. "Why wouldn't I bring one? As you said; _public event._ I'm not stupid, Captain, I bring one everywhere," he revealed, mouth twisting when a gloved hand touched his shoulder. "Hey now, careful with the merchandise."

Muttering an apology, Steve nodded. "Okay, so we find your suit, but what about the suitcase? They said you'd need it to get out."

Tony stared.

And if the casual glances his way before hadn't made him sweat, the unblinking stare now certainly did. Steve swallowed nervously, shifting on his feet when the temptation to kick his toes against the ground grew in his chest. "What?" he asked feebly.

Tony stared some more.

"What?" the soldier asked again, cheeks beginning to burn once more. Not that they'd really stopped since entering the room. The genius was like his father; charming and attractive as all hell. "What did I say?"

Tony looked honestly confused for a second before he let out a sigh. "Is this guy for real?"

It was Natasha that answered, voice calm and exhausted. _"Sadly, yes. Just tell him that you don't know about his suits, okay?"_ she instructed, letting out what sounded like a yawn. _"And then take him to where it is. After that, go back to the pick-up point and get the hell out of there. They broadcasted some type of signal about three minutes ago. I think they know you're there."_

Steve grunted, eyes flicking up and over to the red flashing light in the corner. "Cameras," he muttered, cursing softly. "I didn't think to take them out. Didn't think this type of place would be wired for them."

 _"Not your fault, just get out."_

Nodding, he turned to face the previous hostage, wincing when he noticed the man was passing the time by checking his injuries. There were more than he'd thought. "Mister Stark, sir?" he started, blinking when the man looked startled. "I need to get you to your suit – which I haven't been briefed on, by the way. Do you know where they keeping it?"

Tony frowned, shrugging his uninjured shoulder noncommittally. "Probably some place they can research it, I'd say," he murmured, moving to poke at a bruise on his navel. "And please, call me Tony."

Reaching out to tug the man's shirt back down – the sliver of skin, even so small, was distracting – Steve demanded his attention again. "The higher levels then, you think? Natasha, can you hack into their camera system? Maybe see if you can find where they're keeping the suit, and when those reinforcements will hit us? I wouldn't mind the warning."

 _"Already way ahead of you,"_ Natasha promised distantly. _"You've got a squad coming from your left, use the doorway to bottleneck them. And it looks like it's a few levels above you. Stark was right, they're playing around with it."_

Hiking up his shield, Steve slowly pushed the man into the corner again, patting his shoulder to keep him there. "They can't use it – the suit or whatever – against us, can they?" he questioned quietly, catching the sharp sounds of boots hitting the concrete. "Can it be used as a weapon?"

Natasha made a soft sound. _"They can't power it without Stark,"_ she revealed. _"And yes, it is essentially a weapon. Three seconds."_

Jumping into the action as soon as a gun poked through the door, the soldier focused solely on taking down the newcomers and keeping them out of the room. If they got in, there was a chance they'd see his payload. If they saw the genius, they might shoot him to stop him from escaping, and that was unacceptable. Steve grunted when a bullet ghosted along his upper arm, lifting the shield a little higher before using it to tear muscle and bone apart. The man let out a sickly scream as his arm was more or less torn from his shoulder and he shouldn't have found satisfaction in the sound.

But he did.

Throwing the screaming man to the side, he moved on, trying to force them through the doorway. Surprisingly, they were stupid enough to keep coming – not bothering with a strategy and just filing in one after the other. It took him a few more well practiced punches, low hits with his shield and tight kicks, but eventually they stopped coming.

Panting, he looked to the man bundled up in the corner, checking him over quickly. "Star – _Tony._ Are you alright?" he demanded, stalking forward to physically check the smaller body. He was careful of the old injuries but hurried to make sure there weren't any fresh ones. "Did anything hit you?"

The genius nodded wildly, letting the other manhandle him with a small shrug. "Yeah, I'm fine, not to worry," he promised in a hushed tone, swallowing as he looked towards the bodies on the ground. "That was terrifying. Hot, but fucking terrifying."

For once, Steve didn't feel the heated burn of a blush. "We need to get to your suit."

* * *

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	4. Tiny nukes?

Tony trailed behind him like a lost puppy, talking at a hundred miles an hour and bumping into his back every time they rounded a corner. It had been almost endearing at first. The older man was similar to a child in such a way that you couldn't help but smile at his demeanor, but the more he spoke, the more the soldier picked up on the whole...

There wasn't really a _word_ for it, but he understood why some people were quick to dislike the man.

" – and so technically I count it as the whole calendar squad? December was twins after all," Tony rambled pointlessly, still poking at his bruises with morbid curiosity. "I did it more for the novelty. I mean, did you see March? A little different than my usual – I'm not really that into redheads. Prefer blondes. Just something about the blue eyes and – _oof!"_

Annoying.

That was the word.

The man walked into his back for the umpteenth time, hard enough to make his teeth click. "Look out," Steve warned absently, one hand curling behind him to protect the male as he peered around the corner. "Maybe we should be quiet for now. We don't want them to hear us coming, hm?"

A snort sounded in his ear, feminine and loud. _"Stark doesn't do quiet,"_ the redhead announced.

Steve peeked over his shoulder, blinking when brown eyes hit him head on. It was like being mowed down by a freight train. "We're close," he promised, steeling his expression. He needed to stop with the eye contact after this. "Your suit should be through there, but I want you to stay behind me until I give the all clear, yes?"

Tony nodded, biting his lip but backing up slightly. It was easier to breathe when the man wasn't so close. "Wait out here until you give the all clear," he repeated obediently, playing with his wrists. The skin was still raw and discolored, but it seemed to be a source of interest to the genius; like he'd never seen the damage up close and personal before. "Stay quiet, so they don't hear us coming."

" _Well, I'll be damned,"_ Natasha exclaimed quietly, sounding genuinely surprised. _"He listened to you…"_

Content the man was in a submissive mood, Steve moved to kick open the door, barging into the room like a wild bull. There were some startled shouts, but no instant gunfire, and he reminded himself that these were engineers and scientists – not exactly men of battle. Taking down the nearest one with a clean hit, he ducked when pain laced through the bullet wound on his arm and the familiar sound of a gun cocking sounded.

"Don't move, or I will shoot, I swear..."

Steve turned sharply to face the open door, watching the man hold the gun up with an air of discomfort. The other people started flocking towards him, towards the gun, towards the genius, and his gut tightened. That wouldn't do.

When he took a step forward, the gun let out a crack, bullet lodged somewhere in the ceiling above him. "I said don't move! I won't miss next time, believ – " It was a dull sound that cut down the sentence, making sure it was never finished, and making the man go limp; like a puppet with its strings cut.

Behind him, almost smugly, the billionaire was brandishing the metal bar that had once barricaded the door.

"Oh shit, oh someone catch him," Tony called out, wincing when the scientist hit the ground with a hollow thud. "And there he goes," he noted, shaking his head before realizing there were others in the room. One of the engineers scrambled for the gun, but an awkward hit to the back of his neck had him crumpling into a mess of limbs. "Anyone else want the gun? Seriously. Make my day and try grab it."

Watching the man wave the metal around, threatening those still standing, the soldier huffed out a small laugh. "I've got it," he allowed, reaching down to grab the weapon. He crushed it in his hand with a pointed quirk of his brow. "This doesn't have to be difficult."

"If they so much as touched my suit, then yes, it does have to be."

Steve levelled the genius with a bored look, head tilting ever so slightly to the side. "I sincerely hope none of you touched his suit," he murmured, the metal a mess in his hands, nothing more than twisted silver. "Because I don't think he's letting go of that stick anytime soon."

Tony snorted, and there was the answer to that question. "Try and take it from me, pretty boy, I dare you," he teased absently, almost like he didn't realize he was speaking. "This stick is mine, and mine alone. We're thinking of a summer wedding, what do you guys think? Captain, you're my best man. No arguments."

How did this man function? His brain went from one topic to another faster than a bullet. Steve blinked, going through the words slowly in his own mind, letting them sink in as the man took a breath. "Sure," he allowed, nodding shortly before giving the room a quick once over. "Where's your precious suit then? I assume you're going to marry your stick in it."

Darting around both the fallen bodies, and the ones still wavering on their feet, the genius hurried to the corner with a bright look. "Hah! Untouched. What did I tell you Jarvis? Put it in a suitcase and watch them squirm."

Steve was curious but didn't turn, making sure to keep the engineers in his line of sight now that the other man was distracted. "Is everything okay?" he questioned, cocking his head when metal grinding reached his ears. "Tony?"

 _"He's fine, Steve. Focus on the bad guys. They want you dead, remember?"_

The redhead's words made him snap to attention, not bothering with care or subtlety as he shot forward in determination. There were only three of them left, all lacking the proper training that could get them through it and all going down like dominos. Fixing the shield again, he gave it a small and fond smile. "Done. Where to now? Get Stark out and to the pickup zone?" he demanded, forcing his hand down when it lifted to his ear.

Natasha hummed in his ear, lilting and melodic. _"Stark will get out fine on his own, not to worry. He might actually be helpful. You've got two teams incoming, each commando's and each armed to the teeth."_

"Damn," Steve cursed, taking a deep breath before turning to face his payload. "Tony, I need you to – "

Oh. _Suit_.

He understood it now.

Steve struggled for words for a few seconds, mouth working silently before he managed; "That's impressive," in a strangled tone. He also threw in a few strange hand movements to try and emphasis, but it only made him look more ridiculous. "Did you – did you _make_ this?"

The rich baritone wasn't tinny exactly, but it wasn't as smooth with metal in the way. "Literally with my own two hands," the genius bragged, lifting both red shaded gauntlets. "And the brain, of course. That's the part that's important."

Steve could hear the enemy incoming, could catch the stomp of their boots and their shouted orders, but all he did was gape. "Romanov, she said _you're_ the only one who can power it? How? I don't understand…" he frowned, lips tugged between his teeth and bitten. "Body heat? Movement? Velocity? Start nodding whenever, but I'm running out of words that sound remotely scientific."

The suit shifted minutely, and something told him he was being grinned at. "It's an arc reactor. More than _remotely scientific._ It's pure, clean energy," Tony declared, a hand lifting and letting out a scream of power.

The soldier ducked with a shout, ready to scold the other for the friendly fire when he noticed the boots coming up behind him. Steve yelped and dove to the side, watching as the suited man calmly fired every time a body blocked the doorway, not caring when bullets bounced from the metal covering his chest. It was slightly mesmerizing, the ease that the man moved with and the leveled mind a battle gave him, but soon the commandos realized that _doorway_ _was_ _bad_ and stopped coming. The spell broke.

"Jarvis buddy, you're with me, right?" Tony asked loudly, the shoulder planes of his suit lifting. Small – oh gods tell him they weren't missiles – shoots were visible through the metal, machinery whirling. "I really need some insight right now."

Silence, then…

"Thanks Jay!"

Steve openly frowned now, curled into a ball behind his shield. Who was the lunatic thanking? No one had answered his words and none of the commandos had even shown their face so what the frick was – oh shit they _were_ bloody missiles!

"Stark!"he barked, covering his head when plaster flew about. The walls and the door were long gone by the time he dared to open his eyes again, torn apart by the concussive blast. "You – you have tiny nukes in there? Tiny nukes that can shoot through walls? How did you even know where to shoot? How did you fit a big explosion in such _tiny_ missiles?"

The suit clunked as the man turned his way. "They're not nukes, Captain, I promise. Because that would be highly illegal," Tony stated loudly, maybe _too_ loudly actually. "So no, of course they're not nukes."

Why was he staring? And why so pointedly?

Tony continued speaking without missing a beat, the face plate coming up to show bruised skin and blood-stained teeth. "Anyway, uh, I have to ask; what the hell are you doing? Are you hiding behind the shield? How can you – you can fit? What like so… Compact Captain. Captain Compact?" he pursed his lips, shrugging once. "First, you're a whale, now you're a turtle, hiding behind your shell. Or is tortoise more accurate? Since they live like, over a century, and you're not exactly a spring chicken anymore. Spring tortoise?"

Slowly straightening up, so he didn't startle the man, the soldier held out a hand. "Are you okay? Tony, I need you to remember if at any point, you might've hit your head," he smiled, disarming any threat he might have posed to the man. "You're acting a little strange."

" _Steve, he's fine. Stark is always like that. That man doesn't have silence in his very extensive vocabulary,"_ Natasha drawled in his ear, apparently bored of the situation. _"The novelty of it'll fade, give it time. Soon you'll be wanting to punch him like the rest of us."_

At the mention of hitting the genius, he flinched back, raking a hand through his hair. The other man was watching him, something similar to hurt painting his features. "I'm sorry, I didn't – Your brain must be hard to keep up with," he murmured weakly, bowing his head.

Hesitantly, the billionaire dipped his own back, lips paired with a smile. "I'm used to it."

Steve smiled back.

" _It's official; you two are making me sick,"_ Natasha declared loudly, making the blond start to the side. _"Stare into each other's eyes later – better yet, make Stark take you out to dinner as payment for saving his ass. You're free next weekend, right Rogers? Well, you're free all weekends really."_

Thank god, he was lucky only he was privy to this conversation – he was blushing so much he felt dizzy.

The suit made a whirling sound. "Actually, yeah, neat, sounds like a plan," Tony agreed readily, nodding once. And great, just great, the private conversation wasn't actually private, this was just what he needed today. "I can do next Friday, if that's okay with you? Lovely. It's a date."

Steve stammered and splattered. "It – it's okay, really. Y-you don't need to pay me back for this," he placated, both hands lifting in denial. "I'm here because Coulson called me in and uh, you don't, um…" One look at that man was all he needed, eyes taking in the lifted brow and set expression. "This is all going in one ear and out the other, isn't it?"

Tony beamed, nodding wildly before the faceplate slammed into place again. "Wasn't even listening," he admitted. "Was just watching the blush grow darker. You look like you're about to pop or something."

The soldier pressed his knuckles to his cheek. "Now isn't really the time too – "

"I was also watching your mouth. You've got nice lips," he drawled, and damn it, this wasn't fair. The genius could read his every thought and feeling, as written on his face as they were, but he was running blind. He didn't know if the man was playing around, or if he was – "I'm being serious, by the by. You into modelling? You should go into modelling. I'd _pay_ to stare at your face. Probably be over-charged, but I don't mind, you're worth it."

This was not the time. He was a soldier – better yet, he was a Captain – and right now he was on a mission. Admittedly, it was going rather smoothly, no doubt thanks to the man incased in iron, but it was still a mission. He needed his wits. He needed his blood circulating through his body rather than sitting in his cheeks.

Steve took a calming breath, willing the blush away. "Pay to stare at it on Friday," he commanded firmly, and that would've been him agreeing to a date. Oh, brilliant, that's just – perfect. "We need to get out. You're still in danger."

The suit somehow managed to look disgusted. _"Excuse you_ , the only people in danger right now are those motherfu – "

Steve sent him a withering look.

The billionaire looked like he choked. "Fudgers. Mother _fudgers_. Okay, listen stars and stripes, this suit is the perfect defense. I'm wrapped up in a shield right now, yeah?" Tony comforted, gesturing to his body as a whole. "A shield that has built in targeting and repulsive technology. If the big baddies refuse to give us space, I'll _send_ them to space. You getting the big picture here?"

The blond narrowed his eyes. "You are still at risk," he repeated lowly, words clipped and rough. "You are still in danger. We're leaving right now."

"Does your _spandex_ come with armed missiles?"

The look the soldier adopted was one his team mates feared. It was the one that Clint had aptly named; the disapproving look of disapproval. Judging by the way the red metal cowered back, openly stepping away and dropping eye contact, the look was one his payload feared too.

Tony canted his head to the side. "This is the second time today I've been a mixture of both terrified and turned on, and I'm not sure I like it," he declared blandly, iron shoulders lifting in a shrug. "Not saying I _don't_ like it. Just not sure if I wanna repeat the experience yet. Like a team training exercise, only it's a double team and the training is in my pants and – okay I don't actually know where I was going with that, but you're blushing again, so cool beans."

Steve bit back a sigh, because _no_ his cheeks weren't burning, and _no_ he wasn't blushing. The genius was a big fat liar.

"Natty, baby, is that you swearing?" Tony cooed, and the suit turned back to the door, like it was giving the conversation some privacy. "You're going to need to speak up, I can't hear you. Neither can Stevie. He's the important one here and – no, stop interrupting me – you – not cool beans, I happen to love my mother."

Steve thought for a split second that his communications unit was down, but after murmuring the woman's name and getting a clipped response, he realized she'd only found a new frequency. "Are you chewing out my payload?" he muttered, turning away as well so his lips weren't visible. The genius was chattering away, saying something about her creativity when it came to crayons and murder, but not noticing she wasn't actively listening. "Give him a break. He looks like hell, probably feels like it too."

The woman sighed. _"I've already got a medic team waiting,"_ she admitted, and there it was, her subtle way of showing she cared. _"But I doubt he'll show any interest in staying to be debriefed. He's stubborn like that. Think you can talk him into at least getting checked over by a doctor?"_

Tilting his head, he watched gold and red move so fast it was a blur. "Doubtful. You seen the guy? I've met children with more tact than him."

" _Yeah, but you told him to stay behind before and he listened. For a whole five seconds. It's a new record for him,"_ Natasha revealed, and the small of her voice held a note of affection. It was hard to pick up, but just as hard to miss. _"He hates herbal teas, you know, so I brought a box and told him not to touch it. Box was empty less than six hours later. Defying orders is his superpower."_

Steve shook his head. "He sounds like a handful," he muttered, spinning around and storming closer to the suit. He pressed a hand against the shining surface of a shoulder and waited to be noticed. "Tony, we need to leave. We can't afford to let them regroup, and you need to see someone about your injuries."

The mask came up again, and brown eyes were hard but still playful. "Yes to the first, no to the second. I don't know what you've been told about me, but I don't do doctors. I don't trust them," he shrugged, and the playful edge looked a little forced. "Who bets their career on people being hurt? They expect their money to come out of people too afraid to die. Who does that?"

"Tony."

At his name, the genius opened his mouth, maybe ready to continue rambling or maybe not, but instead he gave a toothy smile. "Sorry," he allowed, and again, he shrugged. The action caused pain to flicker through his face. "I have trouble with that whole silence thing you hear about. It's my only flaw. So how are we getting out of here? There any convenient and unguarded exits?"

The quick fire change of conversation almost made him take a minute, confused by the rapid string of words, but he only shook his head. "I don't know," Steve admitted honestly. "Romanov, what have you got?"

" _There's a flight of stairs three doors down, to your left. If you can go up a few levels, Stark can blast a hole in the rock and fly you both out of there."_

Steve was already on the move, the smooth sound of metal proving he had someone following close behind. "What happened to our ride?" he demanded, checking around a corner before barreling through the two guards standing there. His shield had them unconscious before his companion could so more than raise his arms. "Don't tell me he was shot down?"

Natasha made a sound, like she was annoyed he was asking stupid questions. _"No. The storm is too bad, he had to evacuate,"_ she bit out, and somewhere on her end, there was frantic beeping. _"You two really need to hurry. If what I'm seeing is correct – there's backup arriving."_

"Copy that," Tony droned, and the suit was airborne, hovering awkwardly between the floor and low ceiling. "What's outside this wall?"

After posing the question, both hands came up; the blue ray coming from the palms again to collide with the rock. It took a few blasts, and he was trying to shout over the sound, trying to warn the man that they hadn't done the whole; _going up a few levels_ thing yet. But before the man could ever register, or hear his words, there was beautifully gaping hole in the wall that revealed the outside world. The outside world that was about twenty meters underwater.

The rush of water wasn't stopped by his instinctive lifting of the shield. It hit him hard, throwing him back against the wall behind him and bruising both his ego and his back to all hell. If this was how he died; fighting against the murky water and begging for air, then he was going to –

Fly?

He was going to fly.

Metal surrounded him, something blue shining onto the width of his cheeks as he was dragged up through water and into the storm. There was a hard grip behind his knees and along his shoulders, the touch revealing someone was holding him bridal style and carrying him away from danger. Steve wanted to thank them, but as soon as his mouth opened, water flooded in and caused panic to lace through his spine. He couldn't _breathe._

He started to struggle against the firm hold. "Stop fighting, damn it! I'm going to get above the storm!" The yelling voice was muted in his ears, but he managed to catch it, to recognize the baritone vowels and relax minutely. "Jesus, I almost dropped you!"

Once again, he couldn't open his mouth to apologize, not without feeling like he was drowning, so he didn't bother. He was happy to wait, to wait until they weren't still only a few hundred feet away from danger before he thanked the man, but then it all just…

Stopped. Like someone flicking a switch. Like a radio dying into silence.

"There we go, that's better," Tony breathed, and they hovered for a few seconds before shooting forward again. Above the storm, he could almost see the sun rising across the world from them. "I'm gonna have to ask you to hold on, Captain. I'll need my hands soon. Think you can do that for me? It's not too difficult, just grip my shoulders and wrap your legs around me."

With the words, the suit slowed down, going from racing through the sky to simply cruising the length of it. It was just enough to lessen the pressure of the wind, just enough so he could slither up the metal body, wrapping his arms around its neck and brace his legs around a slim waist. Steve wouldn't say it was _comfortable_ , but he wouldn't look down on doing it again either – it was a strange mix of cold metal, and warm intimacy, and he settled against metal almost happily.

The hands holding him slowly let go, like the man was nervous he'd fall. "Just like that, you're perfect," Tony murmured, finally putting his hands back at his sides and firing up the repulsors. "Okay, I'm gonna speed up a little. Not too much, don't worry."

It was the slightest prickle of pain along the back of his neck that signaled their speed had increased – the wind strong enough to slice through his hair and burn his lips. The strangest thing about it was that when he managed a look down, seeing only sparking clouds and black, he didn't feel more than a rush. There was no fear that he'd fall or that he'd slip.

Steve turned his head and hid it against metal. If humans were meant to fly, they would be born with wings – it was something he firmly believed in. How strange was it then, that Tony made it seemed natural?

* * *

 **Hello, it has been a while, hasn't it? Hit some difficult times, but a message from one of you guys really lifted me up and I finished writing this for you. It took me a little while to read over it and make sure I liked it, apologies, but here it is.**

 **Taila xx**

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	5. Pancake Pandate

"Tony, this uh – this isn't headquarters?"

The words earned him a snort, the metal body dropping down to touch dirt. "Wow, good observation. I see nothing gets past you," Tony murmured, rocking lightly as his suit hit the ground. His arms stayed awkwardly splayed at his sides, the man taking great care not to accidentally touch anything he didn't own. "This is only a hundred miles away from the base, but it does have the best pancakes I've ever tasted. You in? Good."

Steve climbed down the suit uncomfortably, realising how small the other male really was as he untangled their limbs. "We need to report in," he pointed out, stretching aching muscles. He felt like jelly – supersoldier or not – from the short ride. "First-aid will be waiting, and we need – "

"Food," Tony interrupted, both hands coming up to dislodge the helmet.

The revealed features were flushed with a sheen of sweat. dark hair stuck to a bronzed forehead in almost fragile looking curls – and _why_ was his head using so many damn objectives? The guy was sweating, and it should've been gross, not poetic. Steve swallowed down his annoyance and batted away more romanticised thoughts, hearing a certain red head mocking him in his head.

Wait, more words, the man was talking " – and we need food, hopefully some coffee if there's a fresh batch. Besides, it wasn't like you could handle another mile clinging to me like that. I could practically feel your oversized muscles trembling, which _nice_ by the way. How much do you work out?"

Steve opened his mouth, blush already eating at his cheeks, before the scent hit him _hard_. "Oh, what is that smell?" he groaned, testing out his legs by taking a few stumbling steps forward. It was a stupid move on his part, considering he couldn't feel anything past his hips, but twin gauntlets were there – wrapping around his waist and keeping him upright. "Thanks. Sorry about that, I got excited."

The chuckle was low and breathed out against his ear like a prayer. "I don't blame you. I'm getting excited now too," Tony purred, righting the heavier body with nothing more than mechanical whirling. It was interesting that while the words were flirty, and his eyes lingered almost suggestively – his touch didn't, the man backing away and respecting his space without thought. "Oh, I smell it. Bacon, how I missed thee…"

Steve almost tripped over his feet following the suit. "Uh, Mr. Stark? I don't have my wallet on me right now. It ruins the lines of my suit."

Tony frowned at him for a blink of a second, before a red and gold blur waved through the air. "Don't panic, blondie, it's on me," he snorted, seeming to wiggle in excitement as his companion caught up. "I have a tab here. Monthly payments."

Steve managed to pull a face, deciding it wasn't worth commenting on every strange thing the genius did. "I won't question it," he muttered quietly, eyeing the man as he held the door open with metal fingers. "You're already buying me dinner next week – _apparently –_ so you don't need to buy me…" he faltered then, a feminine voice in his ear happily announcing the time and date. "Natasha, did you say breakfast? It can't be that early."

" _Very early. I'm not sorry I went silent on you either by the way, I was told to stay in contact for as long as it took you to get outta the base. You're out. I've sent your location to Coulson. He'll send a team to pick you up."_

Tony smiled, not hearing the woman that whispered through the comms unit. "The sunrise is right behind you," he announced, metal clad finger idly itching at his nose. "Now come on, get that fine ass inside already. The early bird special will end soon, _and_ my arm is really starting to complain. Grievous injury remember? If you _don't_ remember, then hey, I have a grievous injury!"

The supersoldier had never moved so fast in his life, taking the weight of the door from the other man before his muscles could even think to complain. "You should've said something," he scolded mildly, shooing metal through the doorway.

"I did say something! Mainly – _get your fine ass inside already."_

The grin the genius wore was unrepentant, almost childish despite his mature age, and Steve felt his glare die down. Tony could probably smile and get even the most stubborn enemy to surrender without complaint. He could probably tilt his head, flutter his eyelashes, bite his lips – it didn't matter what, but it could undoubtedly end a war. Those eyes, teasing and brown, were enough to make his stomach tighten weirdly.

Steve cleared his throat, tossing his head slightly. "Uh well, I guess it's through now, so…" he clenched his jaw slightly. "Let's just eat, okay? Natasha told Coulson our coordinates. He's probably breaking every speed limit known to man right now, so I doubt we have long."

Tony seemed horrified by the statement, pressing a metal hand to the glowing heart of his suit. "You _want_ to leave me, don't you?"

Steve sighed and closed his eyes, exhausted by the man already.

Tony was miles away by the time he blinked his eyes open again, sauntering up to the counter. It seemed that yet again, he was only catching the end of the man's thought. "... prettier than him anyway, right? Yeah, probably," he nodded, clapping both hands and letting out a sound similar to a thunderclap. "Anyway! How is everyone today? My darling coffee maker, how have you been? I missed you."

The rich laughter that sounded was distinctively feminine. "I don't know how to tell you this dear, but it's not sentient..."

Steve snapped his head up, watching the thinner woman sneak out of the back room – luckily too far away to hear the muttered comment of _"well, not yet it's not,"_ that came from his companion – and settle behind the register. It was clear she was aging; her greying locks pulled into a tight bun and pristine uniform covering hunched shoulders, but her smile shaved decades away from her features.

"Hello ma'am," he greeted politely, bowing his head.

Tony sent him a truly horrified look. "What the hell was that? Did you say _ma'am?"_ he squeaked.

The woman seemed content pretending the genius didn't exist, now raising her brows curiously. "My, my, and who are you? Blond, fit and polite, and would you look at that face, my goodness. Tony, you devious little minx," she chuckled, the sound deep and throaty. It made the captain's shoulders relax without his permission, but metal whirled quietly beside him, showing it had the same effect on said _devious minx_. "Did you steal him from a nunnery?"

Previous shock apparently forgotten, the billionaire winked at them both. "Oh damn, I'm caught," he droned playfully. "As much as I hate to say it, Mel, it isn't like that. Do you see the unholy amount of spandex? The shield? America's golden boy wouldn't settle for the likes of me."

The now named Mel shook her head, either used to the man's antic or tired of them. "America's golden boy would be lucky to settle for the likes of you," she countered quietly, sending a pointed look in the blond's direction.

 _Five minutes in and she doesn't like me?_

Tony gave a slight snort, missing the short exchange. "Mel, Melissa, honeybuns…" he sighed. "Anybody would be lucky. Have you _seen_ my face?"

The comment managed to pull her attention away from the blond, those glaring daggers now aimed elsewhere. "Oh yes, dear, matter of fact I _have_ seen your face. Black and blue and bloody," she scolded, thin arms coming up to cross against her chest. It was such a maternal show of disapproval and metal shoulders shrunk back in shame, almost like the man thought he could hide in the lines of his suit. "Tony..."

"It wasn't my fault," Tony argued instantly, blowing out a raspberry. "I got kidnapped, those kidnappers thought punching was fun. They liked knives too but that's another story. Parental guidance is recommended for younger viewers."

Frail arms went to cross over an even frailer chest. "Tony!"

The man dove behind him, metal clinking obnoxiously as he pretended to shake in his boots – if it was any other situation, Steve might've actually laughed, but he recognized the concern in the woman's watery eyes and turned to the side, letting her set her sights on the man again. "Traitor. Mel, I'm fine, I'm _always_ fine. Besides, my knight in shining spandex came to the rescue before anything bad happened."

The slight twitch of the woman's cheek showed she thought _punching and knives_ was something bad happening, but surprisingly enough, she didn't say anything more on the matter. Melissa only looked back to the blond and gave a soft smile, harsh lines smoothing out. "Guess I had better thank you then," she allowed. "This man here is my best customer. I can't have anything bad happening to him."

"Naw, you're only saying that because I haven't paid last week's tab, aren't you?"

Melissa gave another bright grin, bouncing back from whatever darker emotions had added ages to her face. "That's the one, love, now how about I bring out our medical bag when you's are finished with your food? It's a little lacklustre but it'll help the bleeding some – don't lie to me boy, I know there's bleeding," she grumbled, the look in her eyes garnering no argument even as she continued to smile. "But onto happier things, what can I get you boys? We've got a special on, since the sun ain't quite up yet. Early bird."

Everyone looked expectantly to him first. "Oh um," Steve shrunk back, looking now to the genius. "Just get me whatever you're having. I'm not fussy and you seem to know your, um, way around so I'm…" He cleared his throat and waved a hand through the air. "I'm gonna find a seat."

Tony nodded, frown evident, before he turned to chat animatedly with the older woman.

Steve left him to it, heading towards the nearest vinyl covered seat with a barely noticeable limp – or at least he _hoped_ it was barely noticeable, he could feel the brown eyes watching him – and slowed steps. He knew any pain would be long gone by the time their impromptu breakfast was finished, thanks to the whole super soldier thing, but until then he felt oddly weak.

He would heal, but he would hurt until then.

The soldier dropped onto the cushioned seat with a sigh, running his fingers over his shoulder before gently prying the shield from his back. As soon as the vibranium clanged to the ground, some of the pain eased up, the tight agony at the base of his neck loosening up.

The mission was done. The mission was done, and while okay, maybe it hadn't gone according to plan he still saved the dark haired man and _that_ was all that really mattered. He had done his duty. Now he got to go back to the awkward, quiet days spent in his too small apartment until he was called on again for something else. He got to go back to normalcy, and boredom, and lonli –

"Hey, black coffee okay? I figured you wouldn't need sugar, what with how darn sweet ya are!"

The smooth voice was sudden enough to startle him from the darkening thoughts, slamming his spine into a rigid line and his hand down to the shield before the man had even finished the flirtatious comment. He knew his posture screamed military, screamed defensive and offensive all at once, and it made guilt lace through his veins when he looked up to catch brown eyes.

Tony was already stumbling over himself to apologize, hands hurrying to place twin mugs on the table. "Whoa, hey now, it's only me…" he soothed, rushing out the words like he expected a blow. "Look, I brought you a gift so please don't hit me with your giant frisbee."

Steve blinked, slumping over and pointedly putting both his hands flat on the table. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, unable to stop from rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair. It had been a while sine he'd had a reaction like that. if he remembered correctly, it was the red head he'd last snapped at, surprised when she'd popped up in his apartment too quietly for his post war mind. "Black coffee is great, thanks."

The metal suit didn't move, perfectly still for a few beats. "It's okay. I got you the full breakfast deal," Tony added lightly, smiling with the words. There was a gleam to chocolate irises, one that was far too knowing for his liking. "I also asked for the portions to be doubled."

"Why'd you do that," Steve asked, tugging the cup closer and toying with the handle.

Tony added the head piece to the armour again, his face covered for only a second before the suit seemed to shift, opening up until the man could _step out_. "I've read your file," he admitted shamelessly, sliding into the booth across from him. "Your metabolism is higher than normal, right? It's why you run a little hotter, and also why you need, like three times the usual number of calories and – what?"

Steve felt his teeth bite into his lower lip, eyes locked on the open wound on the man's shoulder. It was lazily bleeding, no doubt from the exhaustion of carrying a super soldier a few hundred miles, and it was painted a furious shade of red.

Tony looked to the injury as well, eyes narrowing for a split second before he gave a small smile.

The soldier could take a hint. "You know a lot about me," he muttered, blinking up at the man's charming features. It wasn't much of a sacrifice. "I don't… I don't have your file? The only thing I know about you is, well…"

Tony chuckled and weirdly enough, it seemed genuine. "Dad, right? Howard."

Steve silently nodded, watching the man take a small sip before lifting his cup to copy the action. The coffee was a burst of bitterness against his tongue, and they both seemed to sigh happily at the same time.

Other than the soft sound, the genius seemed unusually quiet and lost in thought, both hands wrapped around his mug and eyes burning a hole into the table top. It took him a few seconds to come to whatever conclusion he was looking for, and a bright smile warmed the air between them. "Well, okay then, the name is Anthony Edward Stark, but please, I prefer Tony. I was born on May the 29th 1980, which makes me a disgusting thirty-four years of age. Yes, I know, I'm ancient, stop giggling," he rolled his eyes, gesturing to the blond even though he'd made no sound.

Steve swallowed. "You uh, you look good for your age?"

Tony made a face. "Shut up, I'm not finished," he snorted, waiting impatiently for the man to wave him on. "Thank you. Anyway, I drink enough caffeine that I'm pretty sure my blood is now an espresso shot, my humour is darker than the night, and I'm a firm believer that pineapple doesn't belong on a pizza. You don't put a fruit on something that's considered junk food. Thems be the rules. Okay, _now_ I'm done."

It was a rush of words, wild and breathless in a way that perfectly suited the man, but also confusing enough to give him pause. Steve blinked, licked his lips, and then peered over at the frozen metal. "And what's that?"

Tony followed his eyes. "Oh, that? _That_ is the Ironman suit. It's my pride and joy."

"Natasha said that only you can power it? Then back at the base you said it was…" Steve cleared his throat, resisting the urge to gesture to the man. He didn't want to appear rude. "You said it was something called an arc reactor? I don't know what that is?"

The tanned expanse of the man's neck shifted. Tony was frowning at the table, lips working in silence before he gave a forced chortle. "That story is only available to premium members. If you're interested, membership fees are twenty-nine ninety-nine a fortnight. Sign up now and your first two weeks are free," he wrinkled his nose, tipping his cup to the man.

Steve cracked a short smile, trying to install a sense of calm in the shorter male. "That sounds like a bargain," he chuckled. "Where do I sign?"

Tony's features slackened, shifting from a forced smile to a more comfortable smirk. "Sign your life away on the dotted line, but of course," he revealed, finishing his coffee with an over dramatic swallow. "Anyway, that's me. Tony Stark. Does what I said fit all the shit you've no doubt heard?"

"Language," Steve scolded, giving the man a small look. "And, I haven't really heard too much? Mostly comments about your sarcasm, and your lack of an ability to stay quiet," he smiled slightly, amused at the other's scandalised sound. The genius liked to talk with so much more than just his words. It was refreshing. "But nothing terribly bad, I can assure you. At least, nothing _I've_ heard."

The genius winked. "I dare you to type my name into google. You'll have a heart attack, old man."

Shadows fell over them, the smaller woman snorting as she slowly eased two plates onto the table. "If you keep coming here for breakfast, you'll have one too," Mel smiled, easing another plate from the crook of her elbow. How the heck she managed to carry more plates than she had limbs, he didn't know. "You're lucky we don't drown everything in grease like other diners."

Tony wiggled in his seat, excited for the stack of pancakes practically dropped onto his lap. "Melissa, you _goddess_. I love you. Marry me?"

The older medical pack hit the table next, paired with a cooked brow. "You know I can't, love," she cooed, patting a stubbled cheek in apology. "You two enjoy your breakfast, if you need refills or anything, you let me know."

With a quick ruffle of blond locks, the elder woman ambled out the back again.

Steve blinked in surprise, one hand fixing his hair and eyes drifting down to the two plates of food. "Why can't she marry you?" he questioned distractedly, shifting some pancakes with his fork before taking a small bite. Any manners fell away the second the flavour hit his tongue, and he barely chewed the next few mouthfuls, wolfing down most of the plate in under a minute.

Tony watched him at first, eyes coloured by amusement before he shrugged, using syrup to methodically cover his own breakfast. There was a pattern to the way he did it, and the soldier slowed his chewing to study it. "Oh, something about a fifty year marriage? Stupid, right?"

It was obviously teasing, but the blonde still defended the couple. "I don't think it's stupid. Being married for so long – it's _admirable_ ," he murmured, shoving a slice of toast past his lips. "I've noticed you don't see that anymore; people give up on one another too easily."

Thick brows lifted in surprise. "You're a romantic," Tony realised, nodding as he slowly and surgically started to cut up his pancakes. "Hm."

Steve felt oddly embarrassed that the man had called him out, the familiar burn of stubbornness starting in his chest. "Is that a problem?" he muttered, unable to help but watch those hands expertly cutting out shapes and patterns. There was a wrench, a weirdly shaped dog and an odd triangle and circle shape he didn't recognize. "Don't panic, I won't read into you buying me dinner."

God, he was an idiot, wasn't he? Steve had honestly thought the offer for dinner was… was a date. He'd thought the man's heart had pounded as hard as his had when they'd first met eyes. He thought the man had felt the sparks when they'd finally touched skin to skin. He thought a lot of things.

Things that were wrong, apparently.

The genius snorted, flicking a piece of bacon across the table. "Don't be a grumpy gills," he scolded playfully. "It's not a problem – it's just something I didn't know about you so it's interesting. It wasn't exactly in your file."

The blond felt his face flush slightly. "I didn't mean to be rude," he apologized meekly. "I'm just tired, and..." _Embarrassed._

"You weren't rude," Tony shrugged, waving away the rest of the excuse. "You _were_ defensive, but I've heard you're kinda scrappy. I like it," he winked, pairing the flirty movement with a hearty bite of syrup saturated pancakes. Steve couldn't help but stare as the man licked at his lips, his own mouth seeming to dry out with every passing second. "Those are my lips, yes, thank you for noticing."

The flush was more than slight now.

Steve wanted to make some form of an excuse, maybe stammer out some bull about the man having food on his face – because if he played his cards right, he could still be friends with the man after this. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean too – "

Tony, however, continued talking over him. "I noticed you said you wouldn't _read into my buying you dinner_ which is a bit of a red flag for me. It means I quite obviously failed in the first step of courtship," he sipped comically loudly on his – wait no, he'd finished his coffee was that _Steve's?_ – coffee, winking over the white rim of the cup. "Yes, I said courtship. Yes, I can be romantic as well. Yes, I was asking you out on a date."

Steve blinked. "Good. Can't wait."

The man was either not expecting such a blasé response or was expecting more of a fight, his confusion almost tangible in the air. "You… said yes," he noticed quietly, blinking right back at the blond. "You said yes, okay, sweet, that's… great. I can pick you up at seven? That's okay right? Not tonight, I doubt I'll be let out of my cage for a little while, and I know I said next week but – hey, actually, can I have your number? Let's say tomorrow night but just in case something happens, I need a way to contact you."

The blonds phone wasn't on him, and he doubted the genius managed to have his either so – Steve grabbed a napkin, looking around uselessly for a pen. "Uh, I'll write it down..." he muttered, liking syrup from his lips and getting a happy little thrill when brown eyes tracked the movement. "Pen?"

Tony quirked a brow. "You're asking me? Sorry, left my pen in my other torture outfit," he shrugged, shoving more food down his gullet as his eyes drifted to the windows. "I'd hurry up with that if I were you – your guardian just showed up and he doesn't seem happy to see me."

Steve span in the booth, vinyl squeaking at the rough treatment, only to watch as suited men stormed the car park. "Coulson," he murmured mutely, both happy to see medics – the wound on the man's shoulder wasn't bleeding anymore but the blood still shone in the light, sickly and wet - yet disappointed to see his handler. "Is there any way other than writing it down?"

It was like he'd asked the million dollar question, the genius grinning brightly. "I can get it. Just needed to know you _wanted_ me to have it, is all," he admitted, anger shuttering over his features as the door slammed open. "Hey! Show some fucking respect, this place isn't your damn property." Tony pushed to his feet with a small hiss as the men flooded into the building. "Mel?"

The old woman waved a hand, not even blinking at the damage. "I'll bill you, darlin'," she shrugged, disappearing into the kitchen. "Watch your language!"

Coulson marched in with his chin lifted to the heavens. "This isn't headquarters, Stark," he grumbled in lieu of a greeting, eyes narrowed as they took in the plates of food and coffee. "Captain Rogers was expected to be present for a briefing hours ago. As were _you_."

Tony's brows ticked upwards, surprise etched into every handsome feature. "Wow, okay, rude?" he frowned, looking back to the soldier then over to this handler. There was a small gleam as something clicked into place behind intelligent eyes, but he kept up the confusion act. "I'm fine by the way, thanks for asking. I was only tortured for a couple days."

"Your shoulder is injured," Coulson corrected, gesturing to a medic. "Once everything is stable, we're leaving. Steve, are you okay?"

" _Steve?"_ Tony squeaked, brown eyes flicking to his plate – almost as though the man was debating slapping Coulson with a pancake. It lasted all of three seconds before a lithe female approached with a medic case and his pancake fury was directed to her instead. "You've known me for how many years? Why am I Stark? Better yet, why is he Steve? You, don't touch me. I don't like doctors."

The woman looked bored. "Nurse," she corrected lamely. "Not a doctor."

"Good for you. I don't like nurses either."

Steve watched the entire interaction carefully, the back of his head starting to pound rather painfully at the influx of words and expressions it tried to catalogue. How the hell did anyone keep up with the genius's brain? It was like an intense ping pong game. "Please Tony, I'd appreciate it if you would at least let her clean and wrap it. Coulson, he was struggling to keep flying so we stopped here and I insisted we eat so he could regain his strength," he defended easily, reaching out for his cup. "Debriefings can wait. He's injured."

There was that shock again, colouring brown eyes a dark shade, before the genius took control of his emotions. Interesting.

Coulson didn't react to the blonds words with anything other than a short nod. "Point," he allowed.

Tony didn't seem to hear the man agree, instead cursing up a storm as the nurse poured something clear and foul smelling over his now bare shoulder. Steve felt his face flush red when he realised the man had shucked his shirt in favour of medical care. "Careful. Jesus christ, I'm an antique," the genius grumbled, hands twitching like he wanted to rub at the wound. "Pretend I'm fragile – actually don't pretend, _I'm_ _fragile."_

Steve chuckled lightly, smiling when the brunet peered over at him. "You're fine, Tony," he promised, nodding as the woman jabbed him with a needle and numbed the area. The genius jumped at the sting but otherwise didn't react again, even as the woman dumped a suture kit on the table. "Did you need a ride back to base? I don't want you flying that thing with your shoulder like that..."

Coulson snorted. "He doesn't like being told what to do."

The genius didn't even blink at the comment, already nodding to the blond. "Okay, but I'll need to compact the suit again. It won't take too long," he wrinkled his nose, reaching out to stab a pancake with his fork. "You okay to wait for me?"

"I'll wait however long you need," Steve promised, draining his coffee. "Hey, want a refill?"

* * *

 **Hey you,**

 **Just the usual guys, I'm sorry this was late. I really am – it was a few hundred words from being finished but a recent promotion as screwed things up for me. I just wanted to say thank you to** _ **KDBloomfield**_ **for the review reminding me of this gem. It was nice to find my writing again. Appreciate it** _ **KD,**_ **I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

 **Taila xx**


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